Fanfiction Shorts
by Aubrey Briar
Summary: A collection of ficlets, many written from the perspective of Albus Dumbledore or Severus Snape. Individual rating in each chapter-story title.
1. PG : I Will Never Forget

Summary:

A certain professor remembers a man who has found forgiveness he hasn't discovered himself.

---

 I will never forget the man who saved me. The man who risked his cause to pull me from the darkness. I did not go to him. He found me and saw something that not even the Dark Lord had noticed. But then again, who would have ever thought that I would have had light left inside me when my heart had turned cold to the dying screams and mourning cries of those I had tortured, mentally or physically. Then I believed that killing was not torture. No, it was mercy. Allowing the person to feel no pain as they were punished for the wrong doings they had done against my master. Those shrieks and weeps will never be forgotten now, now that the light has returned again and I now remember good from bad. Then I believed there were no such things as good or evil, only power. Power, and those too weak to seek it. But those were never my thoughts, my words or my beliefs. They were the opinions, the cardinal ideology presented by the man I considered godly. The man I risked my liberty, life and land for. 

No, I shall never forget those recollections. How I wished I could, so that I could no longer suffer through my day mares and nightmares. The horrible thoughts that I created were punishment for the horrendous things I had done in the past, but still, I wanted to forget. I drowned myself in my work, during class time and private time. Reading books upon books on the subject I was knee deep in, sinking deeper with every extra moment I stayed with it. When I presented with Head of House, a title, I threw myself in it as well. A title, higher than the others I associated myself with once again. Though, I had highly doubted that any of them had murdered or tortured for their 'employer.' I became absorbed with my role at this ancient school until I could no long waste time on remembering old things. During the waking hours of course. Who can settle on what they envision? And dream I did. The old blood, the old screams, the aging pleas for mercy. Yes, I gave them what I called mercy. I gave them death.

I cannot forget any of those things. But what was more appalling to the mind was after the death. After the torture. The silence. The thickening silence that I could have cut with a butcher's knife from the dead couple's kitchen. The silence penetrating every tingling nerve in my mind, causing me to hastily look around when the walls groaned or the pipes rattled softly. Oh, my victims were now just as silent as their home. There faces empty of will, the painful contortion gone. Surprise lingering there on one person or another. Most knew what was to come. The only time they were surprised was when they awoke at St. Mungo's. Their faces were so utterly and completely empty, their spirits no long residing in that mortal shell, but their eyes were not.. Their eyes were different. Unfocused, yes, but full of what was called life. Fear still danced in the dark blues or tender greens, horror and dismay still lingering in the dilated pupils. Their eyes wide and unblinking, etching themselves into the viewer's memory banks forever more. I will never forget those eyes. Every pair carved into my stone heart, the one that was very slowly turning back to human over the years. 

Even now, I am slightly amazed at the 'progress' I have made. Of course I assisted with the Philosopher's Stone, I would not allow new memories to come to with the return of my former master. The same man I had given my free will to. But when I had muttered the counter-curse, saving that foolish first year seeker, I could not deny that if it had been only a few years earlier, I would have watched the boy fall to the ground without a bat of an eye. I wouldn't have considered it my duty to head off Quirrel when he distracted the school with his filthy troll, I would not have shooed off that numbskull, Lockhart, when we discussed Miss Weasley's disappearance. I may have gone after Black as I had, but that was not out of loyalty to the Ministry that had persecuted me rightly, it was out of pure-sweet revenge. As it would have been any other time. I would have gotten it too. I will not forget the anger I felt, the fury I was claimed by when I saw him. It was like the fury I felt when I had raised my wand to deliver the last blow. _How dare they beg for mercy? If they had not defied the dark lord they would not have had visitors this night._ Oh, no, but he did not defy the dark lord, he defied his damnable parents and his heritage. And he had denied me many chances to right my hatred for the elder Potter. Revenge had tasted so sweet when he had returned the looks of hatred and loathing. I would have killed him had he said one word, the words of Albus Dumbledore forgotten to my furious mind. I will not forget the looks of loathing..

I will not forget the looks of hatred..

I will not forget the glassy, dark blues that stared incredulously back up at me as I lowered my wand once more..

I will not forget the screams or cries of pleas for mercy..

I will not forget the man who started the war, who ended many things, mine or not.. 

And.. And I shall never forget, above anything else, is the man who saved me.. Even when the Dark Lord's mark is gone from my skin, his memories washed from my mind, magically, naturally or by death, I shall not forget the cool, disconcerting bright blue eyes that had stared at me solemnly as I rose my wand to him. He had not moved, had not taken any slight attempt to defend himself again my attack. He had spoken.. He had spoken to me, the man who was ready to end the aging process that creased his ancient face. All he had said, all he had murmured, was a single word. A triple, nearly silent, syllable word. That one word had caused me to drop my wand, to look at him as if I had met a deity. How could he, so softly speaking, have brought me from the dark side with a single word? I had no longer the desire to kill Albus Dumbledore, to have my master praise me from destroying his main foe. How foolish was I to ever think I could have in the first place..

That one word, the word that had changed my world for the better, that had found the light so expertly hidden beneath the layers of evil, pain and cool disconcern, had been my name. My very name. _Severus._ I do not know how he did it; I do not know why he said it, but I remember how he had said it. He had sounded as if he had forgiven me. Forgiven me as if I was an upset child who had broken into the pastry jar and broken into tears due to guilt. As if I had done nothing vile, as if I had made a mistake any man would have made. He forgave me for killing. He forgave me for torturing. He forgave me for following an assassin. He forgave me for killing entire families, for breaking others apart. For destroying lives and corrupting others. I could not understand why he forgave me. I had no business receiving his forgiveness. He was forgiving a man who had cost him dear things in his life. But why? Why forgive a professional killer, a man who believed he enjoyed hearing terrified screeches.

Why was he forgiving me for killing, when my very last victim had been his honourable and valiant wife?


	2. PG : Forever a Fried

Summary:

The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry remembers a friend whilst he looks through his stone basin.

---

Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor are, in many ways, the parents of today's magic. Their sweat, blood and beings went into the creation of their teaching, into the learning of their students. Into the castle in which all wizards and witches now consider a second home. Their nobility, their values, and their genius were passed along to all who entered the walls of the castle, even those of the nonliving and nonhuman, to assist in the education of the magical. Today, it still happens, as soon as newcomers climb the stone steps, before they even learn where they belong. They are influenced by the teachings and majesty of the four most wondrous magicians of all time. The students of the school are granted knowledge and powers that are unique to these old stones, and then even more individualized things are passed along to those sorted into the separate houses. The founders' traits are shared with their House children, guiding them to futures exclusive to that single group.

These traits, they run in the very blood of their charges, it seems. Inbred, grained within the very soul of the miniature wizards. But there are some whose blood is centuries old, that have slithered and snaked about the very veins of the creators of Hogwarts. These few are the _heirs_ of Hogwarts, the closest of the descendants to match their ancestor. It is usually the youngest, surprising to some, who have the true spirit of their heritage within them, even though they lived and learned so little. Having not yet been trained to curve and school their thoughts to the liking of their parents, their guardians, their school masters, or their society, their opinions and inborn values are as true to the founder's as the founder's itself.

Their likeness to their predecessor frequently confuses the castle, an extraordinary feat that can have disastrous consequences and life-saving advantages. The ancient magic that moves the staircases and brings the paintings alive, that sparks the growth of a new generation of warlocks, intertwines with the magical heritage that runs through the heir's body, bringing forth an image of the late founder, instead of the person itself. When need be, the heir and his or her counterparts can use this trick to their advantage. Three of the four can lock their powers up within the castle that had been built by their forbearers, thus relieving all four of their magical qualities. Throughout history it had been used in times of great need, whether to destroy an heir, or to save a civilization, though the drawbacks were great.

The successors would be magicless until one of the original returned to Hogwarts to claim their abilities back, no longer able to live the tedious life of a squib. 

Once old enough to learn of their family's secrets, of their heritage, of their rights to help the good of their world, these persons are kept under surveillance by the headmaster or headmistress of the witchy school. Many become good friends, amiable allies, with their castle's keeper.

'And such is the way it is with me,'

His offhand ponderings filtered through his mind, catching his attention and dragging it away from the handwritten history lesson he was reading. He knew it by heart, having read the tatty book many times in the last half century since he first laid eyes on it. Albus Dumbledore sat a little straighter, closing the book before realising that a pair of brilliantly bright green eyes were staring at it, a mere half foot away from his own. He blinked, surprised as his aged mind realized whom it was. The young woman who was standing in front of him, watching him intently, was one of the few he had just been reading about. Her name had not been mentioned, but she was an heir of Hogwarts. She smiled victoriously and stood up straight, having been squatting just a bit to get at his sitting eye level.

"I would like to point out that I have won, Headmaster."

"Won what, my dear?" He asked curiously, folding his long fingers together on top of the leather bound that was now set aside in his lap. Her eyes grew a bit narrower, a cheeky countenance over-coming her cheery disposition. She had yet to blink, he observed in a bemused fashion.

"The staring contest, of course. I announced that you and I were having one as soon as I stepped in the room. You hadn't said anything so I took that as a confirmatory."

"I hadn't even heard you, besides I had been reading."

"You don't blink while you read, Headmaster." 

"It still doesn't count as a won battle, my young Gryffindor." Albus pointed out, slipping his eyeglasses into one of his pockets. His eyes were beginning to blur whenever he read. In a few years time, he would need them even when a book was closed. The young woman frowned, though still somehow keeping a humoured disposition. All the heirs he had come across were alike in that fashion. They exerted a content, blissful atmosphere, to drive away any suspicion of nerves. In the current day and age, he couldn't blame their behaviour. Their attempts at being cheerful were being reinforced more so than usual. 

"Well then, I.." she started, pursing her lips in a slightly resentful manor. It was a rare occasion that she won in a staring contest, especially against him. Curious by nature, she tended to look at something interesting when it caught her attention. And it is a fact that humans blink when they turn their heads, automatically, "I think we ought to have a rematch."

"I am extremely busy, Miss Samantha. Perhaps another time?"

"Another time then," She stated after a meaningful, thoughtful pause. He doubted she was as content as she sounded with his decision, "I shall just have to claim that I am victor until then.. Until then, Headmaster-."

"You hadn't won though, that little ruse of yours doesn't count in the least bit. It takes two to compete."

She ignored him completely and slinked off towards the other side of the room. The Lounge had only one other professor in it at the moment and she was unusually drawn to the man. Not that it was anything to be looked into, they were good friends just as he was with the two of them. Filius Flitwick, kind hearted and a very friendly man, patted her arm as she sat down beside him and leaned towards him to see what he was grading.

He often wondered how she could move about without being noticed, as she wasn't like the other girls. She was shorter, perhaps that added to the quick footing she had acquired as a toddler, but she was also fuller than many of the girls. No, he couldn't say she was overly robust, but she was one to scowl and murmur when she had to do anything in a hurry. She was an extremely lazy fifteen-year-old girl.

"They wrote 'Pie' in their charms essay?" She asked, pointing to the word which was baffling her. The Charms professor snorted and corrected her, having her look more closely. She mumbled something that he couldn't make out, rummaging in her robe pockets and leaning back against the cushions of the squished looking couch she was settled on. He would have to ask the caretaker to stuff it, he could just barely tell that a spring would begin to show after another month's use.

"Would you care for a lemon sherbert, professor?"

Having looked back down at another book he had sitting beside him, Albus glanced up and found her now settling into the open chair beside him. Narrowing his eyes in confusion, he looked at the small golden object in her hand. "It's a muggle candy. I think they taste a bit sour."

"No thank you, Miss Samantha. Perhaps another time."

"You're too busy to have a piece of candy, professor?" she asked, sounding thoroughly surprised. The mask of cheeriness had flickered for just a moment. He sighed, closing his eyes momentarily. There were times when the mask would aggravate him to no end, threatening to abscond with his own calm one. 

"No, of course not, I just do not wish-..," He sighed once more before removing his hand from the second book, "perhaps we ought to have that rematch now, I'm a bit tense from working. Winning shall put me in a better mood."  
  
Brightening up considerably, she stood up and looked form him to the other professor. Before she could call to him, Albus piped up. "Oh no you don't. He's not referring. He likes you better than he likes me." A small snort came form the small professor, who merely pulled the topmost parchment onto a smaller, graded, pile.

"Professor Flitwick isn't like that," she said, looking down at him out of the corner of her eye, "there's no one else to do it."

"Oh fine." He said, looking at the door, in hopes that Professor McGonagall or perhaps another Professor would walk in at that exact moment. No such luck. The other professor was summoned over and the small competition was begun.

--- 

"A memory, clear and intact, is all it is," he noted out loud. The colours of the brunette and her two close friends turned grey and eventually thinned away into all that was seen was a shimmering silver liquid in a basin with runes on the side. 

The image of the young girl's face stood out clearing within his mind's eye, along with many other faces and places. She had been an exuberant girl when around him. But there had been times when she had thought no one was watching, when her sunny weather had been clouded over by thunderclouds. He recognized these feelings of turmoil in the young man who was currently in the same position. All expected him to stop the same man. She and her fellow heirs had been thought destined to pull Tom Riddle's power away from him, to gather at Hogwarts and store their magical heritage within the walls and live without it until needed.

But it had not been so. The Ravenclaw heir had not yet been born, still developing within his mother. The unborn child had saved his mother from certain death, all magical mothers-to-be having supernatural qualities, even by wizarding standards, which kept them safe from danger. But the other two, Helga and Godric's heirs, had not been so lucky. One having lost all conscience thought for treason against the ministry, and one disappearing without a trace, into a muggle life undoubtedly.


	3. PG : Watching and Waiting

Summary:

An aged wizard remembers students from the past, some standing out more than others in his memories.

---

Albus Dumbledore hummed quietly to himself as he watched the Hogwarts' Express roll in. He wasn't waiting for anyone in particular on the crimson locomotive, but he was drawn to it occasionally and enjoyed the simple chug it made. Perhaps it was the irregular thing one's heart, but he did so anyways. The purr of the coal engine, the shrill whistle of its stack pipe and the rumbles of its pistons and gears all signified one important thing to him; the arrival of students.  
  
He hadn't had children of his own, always having been too busy or being one step in front of danger had stripped him of that chance.  
  
As the faithful doors began to open, he could see the ghosts of students streaming out in their school uniforms, chatting cheerfully or looking around in wonderment. Some looked as if they were finally home as others looked as if they wished they really were there. Particular faces stood out among the blurred and he reflected on what their expressions revealed. A small, first year girl's expression was full of hope; she had finally come to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was their very own Virginia Weasley, ready to follow in each and every one of her brothers' footsteps.  
  
Behind her came a girl in a uniform that was slightly different from generation than Ms. Weasley's, but only barely. The girl had been a third year Ravenclaw here at Hogwarts by her appearance. Albus frowned slightly, seeing the miserable, foreboding sparkle in the pig-tailed girl's posture. Myrtle Jenkins had never been happy at Hogwarts; he wished he could have changed it. Then perhaps her fate would have been entirely different. A boy jostled past her, in the same style robes, but in his sixth year. He glanced back at her, his impressions of her hidden securely behind a nonchalant visage, before another boy pushed him forward his age. Tom Marvolo Riddle had been a popular lad, adored even by the Hufflepuffs; a rare breed unto himself. Albus wished he had begun to doubt the boy's sincerity before he had. It had been too save the young heir by then.  
  
Again, the styles of robes began to change completely. The robes began to disappear and the young men were in breeches, bots, long coast and newsboy caps. The young women were in over-corsets, gloves, and 1920 dresses that were a dark stormy gray. A young formidable seventh year girl stepped off, a Head Girl badge pinned to her over-corset in a hidden, yet not superior, manner.  
  
"You always were the serious one of your house, Minerva." Albus chuckled. "Most of the time."  
  
The crowds of hundreds apon thousands of students still swarmed around and through him, never noticing him at all. The crowds thinned, the uniforms changed drastically once more. He watched as the crowd of students disappeared and he was about to focus on reality when a young man in breeches and a tailcoat stepped out. The boy looked respectable and the sparkle in his eye proved he was as kind as he looked. He lifted his hand and a small, delicate hand clasped it as a young girl, his age stepped out gently. She smiled to him affectionately, full of brotherly-love. She wore a delicate white gown, quite appropriate for her day and age with a black tunic over it, her hands gloved in white also. They didn't look a day over their seventh year and he watched the boy return the smile before looking startled when she gasped.  
  
"Oh, bother, I forgot my parasol. Madam Fawn will skin me if I forget it again. Pardon me." She said before stepping back onto the train hurriedly.  
  
"I shall wait here for you, Miss Briar." He said warmly, nodding and helping her back in.  
  
The young girl smiled warmly, her eyes lighting up. "You always do, you always do." She said quietly before disappearing inside.  
  
Albus smiled quietly to himself and shook his head slightly as the shrill whistle cut through the air once more. Those faithful doors returned to being closed and he watched for a second time as they opened slowly. But instead of students pouring out, only a single, elderly but with a commanding presence, stepped out. He made eye contact with her and she smiled slightly.  
  
"What brings you here, Albus?" She asked quietly, her voice softer from age.  
  
"I was watching former students return, waiting for a newer generation to race towards the castle, eager for what life has in store for them. Waiting for them, waiting for everything, and waiting for nothing at all.." He replied, murmuring pleasantly. The woman smiled at him once more and patted his hand affectionately.  
  
"You always do, Albus. You always have." The woman said, her eyes sparkling as she stood at his side and turned towards the train. They watched it in silence, relishing in their own memories that were known only to them and only to each other.  
  
Albus smiled slightly to himself as the ghost of the young man reappeared, helping the young woman out once more. Her parasol securely at hand. They linked arms and pleasantly walked towards the Hogwarts carriages to bring them to their school. The pair walked right towards the older one and right through, and the older turned to watch them disappear into the sunlight. Albus smiled once more, he had been waiting for her during his trips to Hogsmeade, never knowing it. She looked up, a little curious, though she still smiled.  
  
"I am quite glad I left my parasol in that carriage, Albus. Though you would have waited for me any time wouldn't you?" She asked, reading his thoughts.  
  
"Most certainly, I can't think of anything I'd rather have done."


End file.
